


Before We Fall: Chapter One

by orphan_account



Series: Before We Fall [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Arlathan, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-23
Updated: 2015-02-23
Packaged: 2018-03-14 19:59:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3423659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There were several ways one could intrigue a god of rebellion, and being presented with a chance to snatch a slave from the claws of another deity was certainly one of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Before We Fall: Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> First draft of my ongoing series that revolve around Arlathan before the fall of elves and everything nice.
> 
> Involves my personal headcanons, as we know very little of the society, gods, and their relationships, so if anything doesn’t ring a bell, I probably made it up. Will feature different point of views, sometimes I’ll make attempts at iambic pentameter and you can call me out on how wrong it is, whatever. Also, might have some grammar mistakes. I’m still working on my English.
> 
> Also featured on tumblr, where I'm registered as nobodyexpectsthequnquisition.
> 
> Enjoy <3

_There were several ways one could intrigue a god of rebellion, and being presented with a chance to snatch a slave from the claws of another deity was certainly one of them._

               

                The image of a whipped slave still burned in his head as he walked down the corridor of his mansion. Murals and frescos in bright colours lined the walls and ceiling, depicting battles, dreams, and people in wide lines and symbols, but he paid no attention to them. He still saw the pleading eyes, tears streaming down the young elf’s cheeks, heard her cries and pleads, and it took all of his strength to stop his hands from shaking in anger, even now.

                Fen’Harel despised slavery. No other thing did he find as abhorrent as binding another creature to one’s volatile mind, stealing their freedom and free will, their lives depending on the whim of a temper. The very idea that someone could get the right to own, to decide, to murder, all perfectly legal in this audacious excuse for a law, was repulsive. Pariah of his own people, to the society he had lived in for thousands of years, he would one day see the slaves freed.

                What he did today was the first step on a long, long road. The risks were high, but Fen’Harel was willing to swim with sharks if that was the price he had to pay. And the ends will justify the means. One day.

                He was buried so deep in his thoughts that he barely noticed the servant running towards him, panic in his eyes. He stopped, waiting until the servant reached him, red-faced from the sprint.

                “What is it?” Fen’Harel asked, not bothering to hide his exasperation.

                “Lady Andruil is here. She brought three of her slaves with her, and she demands to see you. She is…” The servant gulped. “She is very angry.”

                A cold finger trailed down Fen’Harel’s spine. He shivered in anticipation.

                So Andruil did find out, after all. He could only hope that she was already too late. What he wouldn’t give for the chance to see the look of helpless, defeated rage on her face. Just once, in the forever that were their lives, would be enough.

                “Run,” he ordered the servant. “Bring Mythal here; I want her to witness this.” The corner of his lips twitched. “This will be… exciting.”

                He then turned and headed for the entrance hall. The foyer also had an eluvian, which was used about as much as the gate, but Andruil would not enter through it if she was accompanied by her slaves. Also, she would be already standing here, if that were the case. A simple barrier and good manners never stopped her yet.

                “Let her in.”

                The guards could barely reach for the gate when the doors slammed open and Andruil stormed into the mansion, rage and fury and thunder in her gait.

                “ _Fen’Harel!_ ” she shouted.

                Two slaves scurried behind her in a respectable distance, heads bowed as to not make any accidental eye contact with the two deities in the room. The third one was being dragged by the neck, Andruil herself clutching the poor girl’s throat. The slave could barely keep up, tripping over her own feet, whimpering as she stumbled alongside her mistress. It was sickening to look at, and it made Fen’Harel’s stomach twist.

                He kept his voice light, however, as he called out to the goddess, hands clasped behind his back, the very image of nonchalance.

                “It is pleasant to see you’re still as enchanting and gentle as ever, Huntress.”

                Andruil snarled and threw the slave to the floor the same way she would throw a bundle of rags. The elf shakily scrambled to her feet but remained on the ground, sobbing and coughing into her hand. Without stopping, Andruil strode to Fen’Harel until they stood face to face. None of the guards moved, and servants quickly disappeared from the sight of their two gods.

                Fen’Harel looked up. Andruil was taller than he was - a fact she enjoyed pointing out during their conflicts – and now she was standing so close to him there was barely any space between them. She stared at him from above, towering over him.

                “How _dare_ you,” she spat. “That slave rightfully belongs to me.”

                Fen’Harel lazily shifted his gaze at the elf cowering behind Andruil like a blinded rabbit. Her face was so purple with bruises, trembling lip torn and bloodied, swollen eye black, that he had a hard time recognising her.

                Anger welled up inside him. When he last saw her this morning, she was just fine. Well, as much as any slave could be, anyway.

                He forced himself to keep his voice steady, looking back at Andruil. “Try as I may, I cannot see your vallaslin on her. In fact, I can see no vallaslin _at all_. Did you simply kidnap a free citizen of Arlathan, Andruil? Mythal will be interested in hearing that, no doubt.”

                “I can do whatever I please with her. I know she had vallaslin before, and I know that she is my property by every law. You erased her markings, and you _stole_ that slave from me.” Andruil’s eyes narrowed. If stares could kill, he would be obliterated by now. “You are a thief, Fen’Harel. Mythal will hear of this – and after I am done with you, you will wish she had gotten here first.”

                “I have done no such thing as stealing your slave.”

                “Liar. Did she do it herself? No other god would free her without marking her as their own, and nobody else would dare to cross me this way.”

                “You are quite overestimating your authority, Andruil.”

                Fen’Harel refused to back down. They kept staring at each other, unblinking, both of them refusing to drop their gaze and break off the eye contact first. Andruil’s threats were meant to intimidate him, but instead, he felt his blood boiling in his veins.

                He would fight her, but that would do little to help him before Mythal arrived. No. _She_ had to attack _him_ , in his own mansion, in front of witnesses. However, getting stabbed in his own mansion was not on the list of things he wanted to achieve in his lifespan.

                He gave her an almost concerned smile. “You seem very distressed, Huntress. Have you perhaps not yet turned the Void into a slaughterhouse today, so you have to make up for it with beating an innocent into a pulp?”

                “Ah, the Void. All the more reason you should be afraid of me.” Andruil’s hand moved onto the hilt of one of her many daggers that she carried on her, her voice dark and growling as she chuckled. “I have killed your brethren before, Wolf. They die just as easily as any elf would. As you would.”

                She was well aware that this was a sore spot, and he knew it. He watched the deaths of her own slaves, the hot blood pouring from their chests, raining down from the altars in her shrine. He watched her drag the sacrificed, pierced with arrows and their throats cut. The inside of her trophy room, their ragged heads mounted on pikes, eyes startled, torn, expressionless.

                It was a terrifying sight indeed, to see her waltz in her madness, her eluvian stained with dried blood. He watched that, and more, and he knew she meant every word she said.

                But Fen’Harel simply grinned, baring his teeth at her, white and sharp and bold. “Oh, I outright _dread_ your threats.”

                Andruil scowled. She leaned even closer, until their noses were almost touching. She sniffed and wrinkled her nose in disgust.

                “You stink of the Void, Wolf,” she hissed. “I can smell their touch on you.”

                 “I wonder how,” he said, straightening himself and thus putting at least some distance between them. “Could you be by any chance mistaken? You do venture into the Void so often these days, perhaps you cannot tell one realm from another anymore.”

                “Do you doubt my intellect, or my sanity?”

                “Neither, Huntress; you cannot doubt what is not there.”

                The blow was so fast that he didn’t even notice her fist until her knuckles drilled themselves into his jawbone.

                “ _You!_ ” she roared as he staggered backwards, white pain jolting from his jaw right into his brain. “You crude, abhorrent, despicable little mongrel! I will have your head!“

                He backed several steps away, eyeing Andruil. He felt the coppery taste of blood on his lips, and he brushed it off with his thumb. “My head? Is this the best you can do?” he clicked his tongue in faked disappointment. “It seems the Void is draining you of more than your sanity.”

                His taunting was close to a death wish for them both, but Fen’Harel did not care. He now wanted little else than to rip Andruil’s throat out, and he was certain she thirsted for his blood just as much.

                “I will drain _you_! Every last drop of your blood, your heart beating on my altar! If you wish to take my slaves so much, perhaps you can replace them in their duty!”

                The guards at the main door stood frozen into the floor. He shook his head and waved them off. How could they possibly defend him from another god, loyal as they were? No, he was on his own, at least until Mythal would get here. But painful as it was, getting punched in the face was still better than getting shot with an arrow in the gut.

                The second time Andruil hurled herself at him, he was already prepared. He raised a protective barrier in front of himself with a casual gesture, and as her hand hit it with full force, it sent a shockwave through her arm and down her spine. She yelped in both pain and anger. Fist still clenched, fire glowed out from her palm, and she threw the fireball at him – he dodged the attack, and felt the heat brush against his shoulder before something behind him exploded.

                “For a hunter, your aim really is terrible,” he sneered.

                It seemed to enrage her even more. Her voice was trembling with fury as she screamed, reaching for her bow, fingers brushing the fletching of her arrows. “You will pay for that slave _and_ for the mockery! You—“

                “ _Stop_.”

                Both gods hesitated, turning their heads towards the voice. Mythal walked out of the eluvian, velveteen cloak wrapped around her bare shoulders, eyes locked on both of them. She was accompanied by several of her guardsmen, their gleaming armour marked by her symbolic tree. If there was one voice to carry enough authority to make even gods sway in their actions, Mythal possessed it.

                “Stand down, both of you.”

                Mythal calmly walked up to them, crossing her arms under her cloak. She raised her eyebrows in question.

                Fen’Harel didn’t hesitate for a second. He brushed his fingertips against his jaw and mouth, which were already sore to touch. “Andruil attacked me in my own house, and before that, she attacked a free citizen of Arlathan.” He nodded to the elven girl, who was staring at them, wide eyed, from the corner of a room she crawled into. Other two Andruil’s slaves were standing next to her, avoiding their gaze even now. “Soon, the Void will consumer her mind—“

                “Lying snitch!” Andruil bristled. She turned to Mythal, still panting in anger. “That filthy mongrel stole one of my slaves from me, erased her vallaslin, and now he has the nerve to say that she is free. I came here to show him his place like the dog he is.”

                “Then it seems convenient that I got here before you two tore this mansion down, doesn’t it? Our kennels are so full of beasts these days, where would our dear friend live?” Mythal chuckled.

                “Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that, because I would love to put his head along my hunting trophies,” Andruil growled, staring at Fen’Harel with pure hatred in her eyes. He could see, however, that she was already calming down.

                It was not unreasonable to sheath your blades in the presence of Mythal the Protector. Even a creature as reckless and cruel as Andruil knew that, and Fen’Harel was glad for the presence of his friend – however much he wanted to end Andruil right now.

                 “The punishment is not for you to decide,” Mythal replied coolly. “Both of your accusations will be judged, and repercussions for any crimes will be taken. As for the ‘free citizen of Arlathan’…” She turned towards the elf, who quickly looked down as she caught Mythal’s glance. “She will be taken into my custody as a witness and a supposed victim of you both.”

                Andruil glowered and took a breath to argue, but Mythal’s look quickly stopped her.

                “If she truly is your slave, she will be returned to you in accordance to our laws. Now, I would ask you to leave Fen’Harel’s mansion, and avoid it until the matter is settled. I would hate to see this place burned down anytime soon. It has such lovely frescos.” Mythal smiled at Andruil, quiet warning in her expression.

                Andruil glared at both of them, but seemed to understand the situation well. “I will see you pay for this, thief,” she grumbled in Fen’Harel’s direction. Then she turned on her heel, walking away in long, angry strides. Without looking at her slaves, she barked: “You two! Move it. We’re returning.”

                Mythal watched the doors slam behind Andruil, and once they did, she let out a deep sigh. She turned to one of her guards. “If you could escort the girl, please.”

                As they watched the guardsman extending his hand to the young elf, guiding her to the eluvian, Fen’Harel’s jaw still throbbed from the hit. He would have to use healing magic for it later. He touched his lip with the tip of his fingertips, and winced in pain.

                “Did you do it?” Mythal asked simply. “Did you steal that slave?”

                “If I told you anything, you could use it against me during the trial,” he replied, smiling slightly. “But what if I told you that the slave had only today learned that she was to be sacrificed at tomorrow’s ceremony? That her blood would be spilled in the name of Andruil? That I saw her in the streets, how she broke down and got whipped for disturbing the peace?”

                “And then?”

                “I walked away, as I had my own business to attend, of course.”

                “Of course you did. Slavery does not concern you.”

                Fen’Harel shook his head. “Not in the slightest. As everyone is aware. It would be wrong to remove her vallaslin and tell her to run. However she got rid of her markings, though, it does seem like she is free now, correct?”

                After a long pause, Mythal nodded. “Hypothetically speaking, yes.”

                “But not in reality. I understand.” Fen’Harel looked away. “Still, I would like to see her walk away from all this freely.”

                “As would I, my friend,” Mythal said, returning to the eluvian. Her guardsmen already awaited her there. “As would I.”

                She went through the eluvian without another word. Fen’Harel then ordered the servants to clean the room from Andruil’s attack, and retreated to his chambers. This time, the image of a slave burned in his head was different – her face clean and bare, free from her mistress’s clutches, and her skin healthy and healed.

                She was a part of the world Fen’Harel dreamed of. He would attend the trial, and face any punishment that Andruil and other gods were sure to throw upon him. But today, he discovered a small way to fight back, to mend to broken ways of the People. And no price was heavy enough for that.


End file.
